


Battery & Builder

by ionthesparrow



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M, Science Fiction, Soul Bond, fun with chemistry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionthesparrow/pseuds/ionthesparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From here, there’s not much view of the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battery & Builder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [othersideofthis (hikaru)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru/gifts).



> For othersideofthis, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Many thanks to engine, pressdbtwnpages, and thehandsoftime for their helpful suggestions. And, as always, with love and gratitude to Zoe, who said, "who is it you want me to read about now?" but then edited this anyway. 
> 
> If you would like to know more about Lawson or TK, zamdomi put together a magical primer, [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5447528%22)

From here, there’s not much view of the stars. 

The windows in the classrooms on this side of the Tower show only the riveted lattice of steel girders that support the structure, but Travis can see a sliver of sky, and if he leans just right – Travis shuffles further down into his seat and cranes his neck – he can see the sun going down, sparking off the roiling bank of clouds below, sending orange and red and pink tearing across the sky. 

Bonded pairs go to special lessons after dinner, and Travis should really be paying attention, because they have final exams next week. Plus, evening classes are taught by Jeff, and he likes Jeff. Jeff is also from Home Colony Musca. And Musca might be one of the newer colonies, and it might not be as impressive as some of the others, but Jeff being from there means something – because Jeff’s the most powerful Builder the Tower has. 

Jeff can build bigger and faster than anyone else. He’s the only Builder Travis has ever heard of to have two bonded Batteries. Obviously, he has to slow down when he’s giving practical demonstrations to the class, but everything he does is still so clean and efficient it’s hard to believe. Travis has seen him spin and layer three different alloys without even a pause in between, and without his Battery so much as blinking, much less looking tired. 

But right now, Jeff isn’t demonstrating anything. He’s up at the front of the classroom, doing the much less exciting work of drawing circuit diagrams on the board for them to copy. Lots of clean lines: the parallel verticals of the Battery, the triangle of the Builder, arrows in Jeff’s neat handwriting, connecting the former to the latter. All stuff they’ll need to know for the exam, but still. 

Review stuff. Baby stuff. 

Travis’ eyes drift from the board to the back of Jake’s head. At dinner tonight, it was Jake who’d been saying the newer colonies didn’t produce as many good Builders as the older ones, which makes sense, given that Jake is from Ursa. 

“Like Jenny,” Jake said. “She’s from Camparius.” He held out his hands, as if this proved his whole point. 

Jenny and Ben had graduated three years ago, and they were still the best Builder and Battery pair any of them had gone to school with. At the table, Adrian had just rolled his eyes like he couldn’t be bothered with Jake, but Travis shook his head and said what he usually said when the boys gave him grief about Musca. “Well then what about Jeff?” 

“Jeff’s a teacher. He graduated ages ago. Besides, that’s not what I meant,” Jake backtracked. “Musca’s not like _new_ new.” 

This was obviously a dig at Max, because Max is from Canis, which is about as new as a home colony gets. Max had just looked at Jake silently and then, without a word, dumped the entirety of his glass of water over Jake’s tray. 

That had been the end of the verbal portion of that particular argument. 

Travis grins. 

Lawson’s foot nudges his ankle. “Pay attention,” he says in Travis’ mind. Lawson is sitting next to him, of course, and Travis knows that if he looks across the scarred and dented workspace between them, he’ll see a stack of pages covered in Lawson’s neat handwriting. Lawson’s eyes remain forward, hand poised over the page to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. Law could totally skate on talent, because he is – and this is not just Travis being biased – the best Builder in their class. But he never slacks off. He works hard, and Max and the others will probably be asking for copies of his notes the first chance they get. 

“You pay attention for both of us and tell me later,” Travis sends back, packing as much hopeful warmth into the thought as he can. 

Lawson scowls. 

“Travis,” Jeff breaks off mid-sentence and turns to face the class. 

“Always giving us away. Always getting us in trouble,” Travis bitches at Law inside his head. And then out loud, “Yes, sir?” 

“ _I_ get us in trouble?” Law bitches back. 

Travis shushes him. 

Jeff clears his throat. “Maybe you’d like to give us three ways to increase the efficiency of energy flow?” 

“Yes, sir.” Travis stands up. Is that what they’d been talking about? He takes a breath. “The channel from Battery to Builder should be as unidirectional as possible.” 

Jeff’s mind has the smooth hum of a bonded Builder with his Battery close at hand, and his face is equally undisturbed. If anything, he only looks mildly irritated with Travis, which is good. It would suck to piss him off right before exams. “And why is that?” Jeff asks. 

Easy. “Because backflow creates eddies which can siphon energy from the Builder, giving him less to work with.” 

Jeff gestures for him to continue. 

“And the energy flow rate should be constant, or as near to constant as possible.” 

“Because?” 

“Because the speed with which the Builder manipulates the air molecules into other substances can affect the integrity of the finished product.” Travis shrugs. “That’s why metals are so easy to make, and stuff like glass or stone is harder.” 

Jeff smiles a little when Travis calls it _easy,_ a wry twist of his mouth. But whatever, it is easy. At least for him and Law it is. 

“One more?” Jeff asks. 

Travis glances down. “And the Builder and his Battery should be familiar with each other.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Um.” Travis is blanking. He glances down at Lawson again, but Law is pointedly keeping his thoughts to himself. He looks smug. “Fucker,” Travis tells him silently. And then out loud, to the class, “Because it’s more fun that way?” 

The class laughs. Even Jeff’s Battery, sitting in the corner, breaks into a grin before he catches himself and drops back into his usual bored expression. 

“Because, Travis, when your Builder works,” Jeff gestures briefly at Lawson, who sits up even straighter. “He will be using your resources to complete his task. As such, it’s important that he be able to use the bond to tell how much energy you have left before beginning a project. Your reserves are not infinite.” 

“Yes sir.” Travis sits, and Lawson catches his eye and smirks, as if to imply that he knew the answer the whole time. 

“You could have reminded me,” Travis sends to him. 

“You should have been paying attention.” Lawson’s hands sit folded primly on the desk. “Jeff _just_ said it.” 

Jeff turns back to the board and uncaps his marker. Then he glances at the clock and sighs. “We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.” 

His words are cut off by the bell, which sends them all bolting for the hallway, finally done with lessons for the day. Their class is swallowed up by the flood of unbonded Batteries getting out of their own classes: paired islands of white uniforms swirling in a sea of gray. 

They don’t have long before curfew, but Travis follows Lawson back to the Builders’ quarters anyway. There are so many fewer Builders that they’re only two to a room. Lawson gets his own bed, and his own desk, and his own chest of drawers, which Travis considers unfair, but at least he’s not unbonded. At least he has Lawson. 

He’s always had Lawson, even before Law was officially his. 

Travis remembers – just barely remembers – with the vague sense-memory of things that occurred in very early childhood – being in the Tower’s Battery crèche, and being able to tell which wall the Builder children were on the other side of. He remembers Lawson’s voice rising above the rest, clear as a bell inside his head. He remembers the first time they were officially allowed to mix, and how Lawson had met his eyes, and said without any surprise, “Oh. It’s you.” 

Lawson picks up this memory from his mind and sends back a wash of warmth. He finishes tucking his notes carefully away, and then sits down on the bed, tugging Travis after him. “Soft, TK,” he teases. “Soft.” 

Travis rolls his eyes. 

Lawson throws up a screen, not actually building anything permanent, just pushing enough energy into the air molecules to warp them into bending the light, making a half-dome of heat shimmer that hides them from the view of Lawson’s roommate. Law reaches for him. 

Travis keeps his hands between them. “You think I’m that easy?” 

Law grins. He pushes himself up onto his elbow. He cups his hands, and in them he builds flowers. Just energy, but in shades of Muntz-yellow brass and rusted iron red. Curls of oxidized copper forming green leaves and stems. Every petal perfectly shaped, fine enough to pass for real. 

That’s not easy – all that delicate work, all while maintaining the entirely different energy of the screen at the same time. Not easy to push all of those molecules into different frequencies, and Travis’ chest fills with a deep, heady pride. Law’s not only the best Builder in their year-group, he’s the best in awhile. Maybe the best since Jenny. 

Travis remembers how excited she and Ben were the night before they left for Camprius. It’d be neat to see what she and Ben ended up building – they get pictures back at the Tower, of course, of new structures and pieces of structures. Images that are supposed to inspire them, or examples of what they’ll need to know how to do. But the Monitors never say which buildings belong to which pair. And if the teachers can tell, they never let on. 

And now it’s Travis and Lawson’s turn. They’re going to graduate and do all kinds of amazing things. 

Lawson smiles. With a small draw of energy, he sets the flowers to revolving slowly. He likes making these tiny, delicate things, and Travis likes looking at them, held so carefully in his broad hands. 

“You’re never easy,” Lawson says. “You’re way more trouble than you’re worth.” But he follows it with a push of affection down the bond. A burst of warmth and love and _home_. 

Travis kisses him. Law lets the flowers fade and wraps his arms around him. He pulls Travis close to him, and Travis turns his face up to his. Lawson’s mouth is wide under his and he’s grinning in between pressing his lips to Travis’. His fingers trail down the nape of Travis’ neck. Travis hooks his fingers in the waist of Law’s pants and Law’s grip on him tightens. 

From outside of their sheltered dome, Max kicks the bed. He yells, “I know what you’re doing in there.” The bed shakes with a second kick. “TK, you’re gonna miss curfew.” 

Travis scowls and pulls his hand back. “He’s right. I need to go.” 

Lawson scrunches his face into a displeased expression. He looks ridiculous. 

Travis laughs and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Walk me home?” he asks, in Lawson’s head. 

Lawson grins. “Of course.” 

 

 

Travis glances down the hallway before setting out. Physically alone, but with Lawson keeping him company in his head. He’s not technically late yet, but he’s cutting it close. The halls feel strange when they’re this empty. Usually there’d be more people out late, but this close to finals, everyone’s spending all their spare moments studying. 

Possibly, Travis should be less cocky about finals. 

In his head, Lawson snorts. 

Empty like this, Travis’ footsteps ring out on the steel floors. The bare surface looks even more sterile than usual. And the floor is flanked by equally unadorned walls with sparse windows, all of it scrubbed meticulously clean, which is important, since there’s so many of them living in such tight quarters. With the recirculated air, when one of them gets sick, they all do. 

He hurries, but he does take a moment to pause in front of the east vista window. Even without the view, the window would be impressive: a single pane of glass a full story high, at least twenty meters long, bowing out gently, and every inch of it perfectly crystal clear. 

Lawson’s admiration is bright inside his head. “I can’t even think about the concentration it would take to make that,” he says. “All that glass. Cooling at just the right speed.” 

There’s nothing else in the Tower like it – or at least, not that Travis has ever seen. There’s a rumor that there’s an even bigger window on the west side of the tower, but students aren’t allowed in the west wing. Travis leans forward, close to the glass but not touching, so he can look out and Law can look out through his eyes. It’s too dark to see the clouds below now, but Travis knows they’re there, churning away, the windstorms of dust and poisoned air that race across the planet’s surface. 

The Tower rises above the clouds and the storms, metal and glass hermetically sealing the chaos out. The view at either side of the window is cut off by the steel support beams that steady the Tower, but even those are impressive. And Travis studies that long, steep fin, following along where it dives along the side of the building down to where it’s lost in the dark. There’s another rumor that says Jeff built those beams, although Travis doesn’t know if that’s true. 

Back in his room, Lawson says, “I bet he did. They feel like him.” 

Travis doesn’t know exactly what that means, but then, he’s not a Builder. He shrugs. “You think he made the window, too?” 

“Maybe. If anybody could, it’s Jeff.” Lawson likes Jeff. 

Travis smiles. “Musca,” he reminds Law. 

Lawson makes a skeptical noise in his head. “Sure. But when we graduate, we’re going to _my_ home colony.” 

Travis looks away from the steel and turns his attention up to the stars instead. Unless they somehow really fuck up their finals, he and Law are going to graduate at the top of their class. Which means they’ll get first pick of which home colony to migrate to. Pardus is known for warm weather and nice beaches, which wouldn’t be so bad, but he’s not about to give into Law that easy over anything. “We’ll see.” 

He feels Lawson smirk, and then yawn. “You can pass out,” Travis tells him. “I’m almost back.” He gives the window one last glance and moves on. He just has to get across the atrium and he’ll be back to the Battery quarters. 

Law mumbles something sleepy and indistinct at him, more vague affection than anything else. 

“And you call me soft,” Travis mutters. He skirts along the edge of the balcony that overlooks the lower level of atrium. 

And then the doors below groan and hiss and start to creak open. 

Travis freezes. 

Lawson feels his spark of alarm and snaps back into wakefulness. “Duck, idiot,” he says. 

Travis ducks down, hiding in the shadow of a pillar. He can hear his heart hammering away in his chest, even with Law pushing calming thoughts at him. It’s weird for those doors to open. Those doors lead out to the stairs that spiral down the tower to the planet’s surface. There’s hardly ever a reason for them to open. Almost no one goes down to the surface, and certainly nobody comes up. 

Working to stay in the shadows, Travis edges around the pillar, hoping for a glimpse of who or what is coming in. 

“Trav – ” Travis can hear Lawson’s rising concern. “What is it? Who’s down there?” 

The first figures Travis sees are guards. They wear the navy blue uniforms of noble minds and laser weapons hang at their sides. Travis is so caught up looking at them – there aren’t any guards at the Tower, except at the port terminals on the roof, or on stage at big functions; he’s never seen one this close before – that he almost misses that they’re leading a man. 

Travis creeps farther forward, as far as he dares. The man has his hands bound before him. His hair and his beard are wild and unkempt. He’s not wearing any sort of uniform at all: just a ratty pair of jeans and a canvas jacket, both caked in dust and grime. Travis squints, trying to see his face. And he reaches with his mind, trying to feel. But the man doesn’t – 

His mind doesn’t have the slippery, inert feel of a noble mind. It doesn’t have the steady hum of a Battery’s, or the almost tidal pull of a Builder’s. It doesn’t feel like anything or anyone Travis has encountered before. The man’s mind feels dark and cold, like a machine lying dormant. Wrong. Not like any living thing should feel. With a horrified curiosity, Travis presses his reach further, and it’s not quite a perfect stillness. Not an empty void. Banked underneath, he can feel an unsteady, discordant sparking. Almost like static. 

Below him, the man’s steps slow. He turns his face up. And even though the shadows surrounding Travis are thick and dark, just for a moment, he stares right at Travis. 

Adrian is ignoring TK. 

Not because TK is ignoring him – although he is. TK’s got that vacant look that means, despite the fact that Adrian’s sitting at the lunch table right next to him, TK’s probably more engaged with whatever Lawson is saying inside his head. 

Adrian flicks a bit of bread at TK. It hits his sleeve and rolls off. TK doesn’t react. Adrian leans back in his seat, and looks past him to study Lawson’s profile from across the dining hall where he’s sitting with some of the first years. Given that it’s _Lawson_ , Adrian doesn’t think it’s likely that whatever he’s saying is particularly interesting, and the fact that he can say it inside TK’s head doesn’t seem like it should make it inherently more so. But TK, as usual, seems enraptured. Adrian rolls his eyes up at the ceiling, but neither Oliver nor Will are around to bitch to, so he lets it go. 

Personally, Adrian thinks Lawson Crouse is dull as dishwater, but that’s probably why Lawson is TK’s Builder and not his. Or, at least, one of the reasons. 

Adrian lets his chair drop back onto four legs. He doesn’t have a Builder. He pauses to study the gray sleeve of his uniform and frowns at the fabric. It’s not so much that the color is inherently ugly – it’s just that almost everyone in the room is wearing gray. Adrian hates blending in, because Adrian is exceptional. He ranks first among the unbonded Batteries in nearly everything. He even scored a lot better on his assessments that most of the bonded Batteries did. He has _tremendous potential_. At least, those are the words the noble Monitors use to describe him. 

That seems like it ought to be rewarded, but Adrian didn’t bond spontaneously with any of the Builders when they were small. That was fine, because not everyone did. But then the remaining Builders in his year group paired off one by one, and the Builders in the year groups around his had as well. And now here he is, less than a week shy of graduation and still unbonded. 

Adrian rests his chin in his hand. After graduation, unbonded Batteries either get invited to stick around in the Tower, waiting for some compatible Builder to show up, or get shuffled off to do support work in one of the colonies, never to be seen again. Neither of those options sounds particularly appealing. 

Adrian pushes his tray away. Some people might interpret his lack of bond as a personal failing. Adrian prefers to think of it as just more evidence that he is destined to do really great work, and when he does find his Builder, they’ll be something truly special. 

So, he’s definitely ignoring TK, and not the other way around. And he’s certainly not ignoring TK because he’s jealous. That would be dumb. 

Instead, Adrian decides, he is ignoring TK because up at the high table, there are two adult, unbonded Builders. In a room filled with mostly gray and white, their rust red uniforms are unmistakable. 

Glancing around, Adrian’s not the only one paying attention. Unbonded Builders are a rare thing. The Tower will go weeks without having any around – but there are usually more this time of year; there are usually more here to witness graduation, and look over the unbonded Batteries, and see if any of them are compatible. It’s a good thing, he thinks, that the unbonded Builders return to the Tower but the Batteries don’t. Better odds for Adrian that way. 

Still, long odds. Graduation is so close, and only two unbonded Builders have returned. Adrian twists the hem of his sleeve between his fingers, trying to push away the crawling sense of unease in his stomach. 

He glances up at the high table again. One of the Builders is a woman, with blond hair neatly pulled back, and a wide mouth that smiles frequently in the course of whatever she’s discussing. Sitting next to her, the other Builder is a man. When he straightens, he’s much taller than her, but he’s spent most of the meal with his shoulders stooped. He has dark eyes, and short, dark hair, and a broad, crooked nose. He keeps flexing his hands, rubbing the joints as if they ache. 

Adrian’s gaze gets stuck on those hands. He tries turning his attention back to his tray, but only a moment goes by before his eyes drift back up to the high table. And the man in the rust red uniform. 

The man glances up from his meal, his eyes scanning the room. 

Adrian drops his eyes quickly back to the table in front of him. He’s profoundly annoyed – not for any rational reason, but because his mind keeps getting dragged back to this man, who he doesn’t even know. There’s an unfamiliar itch starting under his skin, an uneasy pressure at the back of his mind. Adrian grimaces. He tries to tell himself that maybe all unbonded Builders have this effect, but that doesn’t make sense, because Adrian’s seen unbonded Builders before and they _haven’t_. And because the woman at the high table barely makes an impression. 

And if anyone should be holding his attention – it’s her. She’s beautiful, and Adrian appreciates beauty. She’s the sort of person Adrian has long imagined being bonded to. They would make a handsome pair: blond and graceful, spinning elegant structures into being. 

But instead, it’s this plain and sour-looking man that continues to divert his attention. The clatter and shuffle of the lunch room around him fades, the voices of his classmates seem dim and muffled. All that matters is the gnawing, pulling sensation in his mind. And now that Adrian is paying attention to it, it’s a thousand times worse. He’s lost his appetite, and thinking about anything else besides the man takes active effort. 

Adrian is not stupid. He’s definitely never felt this before. Which means, either he’s developed a very strange and very sudden allergy to broccoli – he reaches out to stab a bit with his fork and studies it – or, this is what the mind of a potentially compatible Builder feels like. He drops the broccoli. “TK?” 

TK glances over at him, only the slightest bit delayed. “Yeah?” 

Still paying attention to Lawson, no doubt, although his expression is more drawn than it usually is when he’s talking to Lawson, his forehead creased. Adrian feels a familiar, cold stab in his chest, because what does TK have to frown about? He and Lawson have it easy. But Adrian manages not to roll his eyes. “How is Lawson?” 

It takes TK a second to respond. “Making stupid jokes. Like always.” He grins, but the edges of his smile are tight. . 

Adrian picks up his fork and prods at his lunch again. He shifts, even the chair beneath him feels uncomfortable now. “What did it feel like when you first met Lawson? Like, how did you know you compatible?” 

TK’s eyebrows go up, surprised. He narrows his eyes and then Adrian gives himself away by looking. TK follows his gaze up to the high table. His mouth takes on a sly twist. “Older does it for you, huh?” He elbows Adrian in the ribs. 

Adrian elbows back. “Fuck off.” 

“Keep mooning, maybe one of them will notice you.” 

That cuts closer and sharper than most of their usual lunchroom banter, and Adrian looks away. 

“Sorry, I – ” TK clears his throat. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just – antsy this morning, you know?” 

Adrian gets another hot flare of what he might as well admit is jealousy, because TK knows what he’s doing after graduation. What does he have to be antsy over? Although he really does sound sorry. So maybe even TK is a little anxious about exams. Adrian shrugs. 

TK’s gaze flicks between him and the high table, in a way that is entirely too unsubtle. “Stop staring,” Adrian says. When TK drops his eyes, he adds, “Seriously, though.” 

“Seriously?” TK scrunches up his face. He picks up his fork and studies the tines like they might have the answer before giving it up and setting it aside. “We just – always knew. I could always hear him. He always felt right.” His distant look has returned, attention once again far away. 

Adrian probably should have known better than to ask him, anyway. TK and Lawson were the first of their year group to bond. TK can talk to Lawson and push energy to him from all the way across the Tower. And that’s fine and good and maybe on the higher end of normal, but still normal. Max and Anthony can do that. And so can Sebastian and Jesse. But Lawson’s the only Builder Adrian knows that can push things _back_. 

That’s maybe something Adrian’s not exactly supposed to know. There’s not a lot of tolerance for diverging from the norm at the Tower. But you don’t bunk under a guy for years without picking up a few things. Adrian glances up again, this time his eyes lighting on the navy blue Monitors. They’re also seated up at the high table, eating with perfunctory diligence. Scanning the room with their uncanny, flat gaze. 

Before dropping his eyes, Adrian sneaks another look at the Builders. They’ve finished eating and are heading for the door. The sensation of the tall man walking away is like a long, steady pull. And when he slips out of sight, it’s like a rug has been pulled out from under Adrian. A sharp drop he can feel in his stomach. 

Adrian grips the edge of the table. Next to him, TK is still prodding absently at his tray, as though gravity hadn’t suddenly shifted, as though the whole world hadn’t just lurched. 

Because it hasn’t, Adrian realizes. Or, at least it hasn’t for TK. TK’s already forgotten about the Builder and moved on to other things. But the man is _leaving._ The man _left –_

“I’ll see you later,” Adrian mumbles, and he leaves before TK can answer. 

The hallway outside the dining hall is crowded. Adrian shoulders his way though. One or two voices call out to him, but he ignores them. The unbonded Builders are not among the crowd. Adrian can’t see the man, but that’s okay, he discovers, because he can feel him. A tug in his mind that says first down that hallway, then this one. Then down a set of stairs. The less he thinks about it, the surer his steps become. Until he comes out onto one of the maintenance levels, full of utility rooms. Pipes for the water supply. Engines for the air scrubbers. 

Adrian frowns and his steps slow. He’s never been down here before. There’s never been any reason to. There’s not really any reason for anyone to be down here, except maybe the Monitors, if they were doing maintenance work. Adrian is used to his crowded dorm, and the chaos of packed hallways. Down here, it’s quiet enough to hear the hiss of steam in the pipes, the clink and groan of machinery. Quiet enough to hear the soft, constant roar of the air scrubbers, a sound so ubiquitous, such a permanent part of the background, that Adrian had long since stopped hearing it at all. 

Down here, it seems loud. 

He walks slowly forward, a nervy adrenaline in his blood, and expecting at any moment for a Monitor to appear in front of him and send him back to class. 

But no Monitor appears. He edges his way down the hall, and he finds the man in one of the many closet-sized rooms that line the hallway. The walls are covered with panels of blinking, flashing readouts and numbers, and the air is filled with an electric hum. Adrian watches him. He is alone now, the other unbonded Builder disappeared to somewhere else, and Adrian doesn’t give her another thought. The man seems very focused on reading whatever it is those numbers are telling him. He doesn’t seem to notice Adrian. He doesn’t even look up. 

Something very important is about to happen, Adrian is sure of it. Something has dragged him here – this man has dragged him here – and the fact that whatever it is that’s clawing at Adrian’s mind doesn’t seem to be affecting the man at all is infuriating. How can he just stand there? How can he not even notice? Adrian leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms over his chest. He coughs pointedly. 

The man jumps. “Mother _fuck._ ” He looks at Adrian and his shocked expression turns into a glare. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

This is not what Adrian expected. Adrian is sure now that they’re bond compatible, and this can’t possibly be how this is supposed to go. And Adrian is clearly the one suffering here, so what is the man yelling about? The man left the dining hall – even though Adrian was _right there_ – which was clearly an oversight on his part, so really Adrian is rectifying his mistake. If anything, the man should be grateful. 

The man does not look grateful. 

Adrian lifts his chin and glares back. “I followed you.” 

“The fuck did you follow me for?” Now he looks bewildered. He raises a hand and points back down the hall, mouth open like he’s getting ready to tell Adrian to leave. 

Despite the fact that Adrian would really prefer to continue to look lofty and cool about this whole thing, his body betrays him, adrenaline spiking. “Don’t send me away,” he says, too fast, panic making his voice waver. “I can – feel you. Don’t send me away.” 

The man’s face falls. His hand drops. “You were in the dining hall,” he says. It’s not a question. His voice is flat. “I told Angela that was a bad idea. Too many loose Batteries floating around.” 

Adrian winces. The man has probably already been approached a dozen times. And Adrian probably sounds just as young and stupid as any of the other unbonded Batteries who have approached him. 

“Look, kid – ” the man starts. 

Anger pierces through Adrian’s self-pity. Adrian is not some wet behind the ears first year. Adrian is not some half-watt mediocre Battery destined to build nothing bigger or more complex than bricks or panels for siding. “I’m good,” Adrian says, and he lets some of his irritation lace his voice. “I’m the strongest unbonded Battery at the Tower. I have a really high ionic quotient, and I’ve already mastered all the sending frequencies you can without a bond.” 

The man fails to look impressed. “Kid – ” 

“Adrian.” 

The man sighs. 

“My name is Adrian,” Adrian repeats. “My Home Colony is Regis, and I can _feel_ you.” 

The man’s mouth twists when Adrian mentions his home colony. Which is stupid. It may not be one of the older colonies but it’s still perfectly respectable. Lots of important Builders have come from Regis. 

Adrian opens his mouth to complain, but the man closes his eyes and cuts him off. “Adrian, you need to leave.” 

The flatness of his voice stings. Like all this is nothing to him. Like it doesn’t matter. Obviously, he doesn’t know Adrian. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on. And he’s definitely underestimated his stubbornness. Adrian switches gears. He softens his stance. “At least tell me your name,” he says. “Before you send me away.” He looks at the man with eyes wide, and works up his best innocent smile. 

The man opens his eyes and glares. “Paul,” he says, after a moment. 

“Hi, Paul.” And instead of leaving, Adrian steps further into the room. “Where are you from?” 

Paul turns his glare up at the ceiling, the look of a man searching for some additional reserve of patience. Then he studies Adrian for a long moment, with that same flat look, before his mouth forms an amused curl. “That’s what you’re gonna open with?” He shakes his head, slow. “Well, guess what? I don’t even remember.” 

Adrian’s thrown. He’s been shooting for conciliatory charm, but some sharpness slips back into his voice. “What do you mean you don’t remember? You can’t not remember your home colony.” 

“Oh, yeah?” One of Paul’s eyebrows is now raised in a sharp question, if anything, he looks amused. “You said you were from – where?” 

“Regis.” 

“Regis.” Paul’s head tips in acknowledgment. “Tell me something about Regis.” 

Adrian frowns. “It’s mostly sub-tropical. It has a big ocean. They make movies there.” 

“Ah.” Paul draws out the syllable in a deeply sarcastic tone. “Now, is that something you remember, or something you were told?” 

Adrian hesitates again. That’s a dumb question. “Told,” he admits, trying to shrug it off. “Of course I grew up here. At the Tower.” 

Paul purses his lips, still wearing that infuriating expression that says he knows something Adrian doesn’t. “So I guess you could say neither of us remember.” 

Adrian doesn’t know how to answer that. 

“Now,” Paul gestures again at the hall. “Glad we had this chat. But you still need to go.” 

He really is going to make Adrian leave. After all this. Adrian takes another step forward. “But I can feel you. Can’t you feel me?” He’s so close. He’s right here, after waiting so long, and Adrian reaches out on instinct. 

Paul ducks back. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t you pull that.” He’s holding himself a few careful inches out of Adrian’s reach. Watching him pull away stings – but that means, Adrian realizes, that he can. He can feel Adrian, just as much as Adrian can feel him. That itch under his skin comes back. Something pulling at his mind, like a joint dislodged, almost, but not quite, back in place. 

He’s so close. Adrian aches. “Why not?” 

Paul hesitates. His dark eyes stay fixed on Adrian. When he speaks, all the sarcasm is gone. “Because I’m tired,” he says. It comes out like an admission. 

And Adrian can hear it in his voice. He can feel it. He’s telling the truth. 

That evening, Jeff looks at their class’s anxious faces and cuts their lesson short, sending them back to quarters to review on their own. And _sleep_ , he tells them. Travis is relieved, anxious to get out of there, even if he’s not particularly worried about exams. 

He and Lawson exchange a glance. There’s a line of concern creasing Law’s forehead, and Travis doesn’t even need to say anything. Both of them just turn, heading against the flow of traffic, back towards the workrooms. 

They duck into one of the empty workrooms, and Travis just barely gets the door closed behind them before Lawson shoves a table in front of it. Temporary, makeshift privacy obtained, Lawson gets his arms around Travis and Travis gets his arms around him and pulls him close. He presses his face in the scratchy fabric of Law’s uniform jacket. It feels good just to hold onto him – steady, solid, and familiar. 

Travis breathes in the smell of him, presses into his warmth. All day Travis did his best to focus on normal things – schoolwork, review sessions, teasing Adrian at lunch, but all day the memory of the strange man and his somehow-wrong mind has pushed its way to the front of Travis’ thoughts. He can still feel echoes of that coldness and the weird static. And all day he’s had to fight off a lingering sense of dread. 

It feels good to grab Lawson and just hold on. “I was afraid you were going to say we should just go back and study,” Travis says. 

Lawson frowns down at him, and Travis can feel a questioning concern pressing at the edge of his thoughts. Law’s touch is so careful – both his hands where they rest on Travis’ shoulders, and his mind, where it brushes against Travis’ mind. 

Travis reaches and pulls his face down. Law’s mouth is soft, like he always is, even though Travis has told him a million times that he’s not going to break. 

Lawson picks up on that, too, and his thoughts sound amused. He runs his hands down Travis’ back and pulls him in tighter. He starts working the front of Travis’ pants, and he has to break away to glance down and look at what he’s doing. 

When he darts a look back at Travis’ face, Travis can see how flushed his cheeks are, and the small, lightly embarrassed curl of his grin. A private expression that is for Travis. Is only and always just for Travis, and every single time, it makes something break open in Travis’ chest. Something warm and amazing, a feeling that would make him blush bright red, if he ever had to describe it out loud. 

“Better be quick,” Travis says. 

“I can be quick.” Lawson’s grinning now. 

“Oh, I know.” 

Lawson pulls back and gives him an offended frown. “I never liked you,” he says. “I hate you.” 

“No you don’t.” Travis kisses him again. 

They’re in an empty workroom, because it’s one thing to ask Law to hold a screen while they make out in his dorm room, and it’s quite another to ask him to do it while he’s getting off. 

Travis doesn’t want to think about how much shit they would get from Max if his control slipped at just exactly the wrong moment. 

Scarring for everyone, really. 

Travis pushes the half-finished projects and fuckups littering the table out of the way – plates that have buckled, a rod that is kinked in the middle, a glass disk, cloudy and cracked. Law has Travis’ belt undone, the fabric sliding low over his thighs. The air on his skin makes Travis breathe faster. They have to be quick; they don’t have much time. They never have much time to themselves. 

Law’s mouth is against his neck, teeth grazing Travis’ earlobe. His hands are at Travis’ hips, lifting, helping him up. 

The surface of the table is cold enough to make him gasp against Lawson’s mouth, and then Law’s hands are there. Touching him, and that’s more important. That’s the only important thing. 

Travis murmurs stupid, encouraging things, and he’s not sure if they’re out loud or not, but his breath keeps catching in his throat, and his hips hitch and lift, and he can feel Lawson’s hands tighten on him, holding him. And there’s nothing but heat and need and the press of Law’s face against his, the unsteady rasp of his breathing in Travis’ ear and the reflection of Lawson’s need, in his mind, rushing back at him. 

Travis is so open, and Lawson’s catching all of it, is awash in it, is right there with him, and Travis can feel his hand stutter, his breath catch. 

They finish together, because that’s how they do everything. Lawson sighs. He sounds pleased, and in Travis’ head, he’s all aglow. 

Lawson lifts his head, and Travis would give him shit for how dopey he looks, but Travis is probably wearing the exact same expression. 

“You are,” Lawson confirms. 

Travis grins, and Lawson straightens, giving Travis space to hop off the table. Law kisses him while Travis gets both of them back together, mind still all filled up with their combined drowsy warmth. 

And then Law hooks an arm around him and pulls him close. He rests his chin on the top of Travis’ head. Normally, this is not a pose Travis tolerates, but there’s no one here to see them; he feels loose and pliant against Law’s chest. And he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Not that I mind your distraction techniques,” Lawson says, arms still tight around him. “But now are you going to tell me what you’re worried about?” 

Travis stiffens. “Worried?” 

Lawson disapproves of this deflection; Travis can feel it as a rise in his chest and a brief burst of irritation in his mind. “You’ve been worried about something all day.” Lawson switches to speaking directly inside Travis’ head. Travis can feel the concern wrapped around his words. “And you don’t want me to know what it is. Is it exams?” He pauses. “Is it leaving the Tower?” 

Travis leans against him. It’s not exams and it’s not leaving the Tower, even though maybe it should be, with the future looming so close. But if Travis reaches, he can feel the Battery minds, concentrated in their quarters. He can feel the dimmer tug of Builders, in theirs. If he closes his eyes and he really stretches, right at the edge of his perception, he can feel the faintest traces of the teachers and visiting adults in the west wing, and the slow wave quiet of the noble minds. 

And – something else. Something even fainter and harder to feel than all that. Something so uneven and erratic, it’s hard to tell if it’s even really there. The feel of it ebbs in and out, and the signal, even when he can feel it, is scratchy, like static. 

And every time he senses it, his mind goes back to the image of the man from last night. Surrounded by guards and with face turned up towards Travis, his eyes piercing the dark. 

He admits as much to Lawson. “That man,” he says. “The one we saw come up from the surface.” He plays the memory back for both of them. “He looked right at me – he _felt_ me. But he didn’t feel like a Battery. Or a Builder.” Travis shifts in the circle of Lawson’s arms. “So what was he? And where did they take him?” 

Travis can feel Lawson ticking over these facts one by one in his head. Ever practical, Lawson asks, “Does it matter what he is?” 

Travis frowns. “I don’t know. But there’s something – there was something weird about him.” 

“He was with guards, so if he was dangerous, he’s already under control,” Lawson reasons. “And as to where he is – well, he has to be in the west wing.” 

The west wing – where all the teachers’ and the noble monitors’ quarters are. Where they’re not allowed to go. 

Travis and Lawson have probably been over every other inch of the Tower in their quest for places to steal a few minutes of privacy. It makes sense that the man that was brought in must be somewhere else. He must be there. 

Law runs through all this logic for both of them. Laying it out in his sensible, reasoned way. Travis watches him for a moment and then laughs. He’s so rational, and somehow still also the same person who will make ridiculous faces just to make Travis smile. The same person who sat with the first years at lunch today, and poured disgusting amounts of ketchup all over his food, just to distract them from their exam nerves. Just to make them laugh. 

He’s going to do such amazing things. 

“Trav.” His concerned expression is back. Lawson takes Travis’ face in both his hands. 

Travis blinks up at him. “You think I’m worrying over nothing.” 

“No.” Lawson pulls him close again. “I think you’re the best and most sensitive Battery in this whole place. I think you probably pick up more than most people will ever realize there is to miss – but I think what’s important is that you and me are gonna graduate really soon, and we’re going to go somewhere beautiful.” He pauses, one arm tightening around Travis. “Not like this. But with sun and beaches and trees and plants, and space to stretch out. Our own space. And we’re going to build the most amazing things. You and me. All kinds of beautiful things.” 

The images he sends – the things he wants to build – are dazzling. Buildings that reach for the sky, that have wings like birds, that shimmer and change color in the light. “You’re amazing,” Travis tells him, barely a whisper of a thought. More feeling than words. 

“We’re amazing. I couldn’t hardly make a paperweight without you.” And there’s so much warmth behind it, Travis might burst. 

Lawson waits a beat and then screws up his face into something ridiculous. Travis swats at him, and Lawson twists away. “We’re also about to be late,” he says. 

He holds Travis’ hand, right up until they have to part ways, and he has to let go. 

 

 

Travis makes it back the Battery quarters with seconds to spare. He throws a quick, apologetic glance at the Monitor standing by the door. The Monitor shakes his head slowly, intones, “Lithium and cobalt. Potassium and lead. Early, good Battery, lay your head.” 

The rest of the verse echoes in Travis’ head as he threads his way down the rows of bunks, working his way between people, _Strontium and iron. Nickel and gold. To store the current, charge the node. Silver and sodium. Beryllium and tin. So early you rise, to begin again._ Travis rolls his eyes. In a just a few days, though, his life won’t be ruled by people admonishing him to get more sleep or telling him when to go to bed. That’s something to look forward to. As is having his own space. 

The room’s in its usual state of just-before-lights-out chaos – crammed with kids hurrying to strip out of their uniforms and walking around with toothbrushes jammed in their mouths, calling out to each other and otherwise getting ready for bed. Travis swings by the bathrooms, and by the time he rushes through his own routine, the lights flash twice, the signal the room is about to go dark. 

When he reaches the set of bunks he shares with Adrian, Adrian is already sitting on his. He’s dressed for bed, but he’s perched motionless on the edge of his mattress, as though he’d sat down and then lost track of what he was doing. Travis reaches for the ladder, but stops. Adrian is sitting so perfectly still. He usually has something teasing to say when Travis comes back so late, but tonight he’s quiet. Travis frowns. “You alright?” 

Adrian looks up at him and blinks, as if Travis has startled him. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He sounds distracted. 

Travis knocks a hand against his shoulder. “Are you sure. You look – ” 

The lights flash three times. “Quiet hours begin now,” the Monitor calls out, flat voice carrying down the room. 

“You look like shit,” Travis finishes in a low voice. “Get some rest, okay?” 

Adrian just nods. He doesn’t come back with anything smart to say to Travis, and that’s weird, too. Travis climbs the ladder up into his bunk. Too much going on lately. Everyone’s so nervous about finals. About graduation. Travis just wants it all over with. He starts to stretch out – 

And there’s a piece of paper resting on his pillow. Rough-edged, but real, genuine paper. Carbon molecules are complicated. Paper is hard to make, Travis knows that from the crease of concentration Lawson gets every time Jeff has them build something organic. Travis can’t remember the last time he saw real paper outside of a classroom demonstration. 

But here it is. A single sheet, folded in half. Travis reaches out. He unfolds it, and there’s just enough time before the lights die to read the single line written across it: 

_They won’t let you keep him._

Jeff walks slowly down the hall. 

Slow enough that he could be mistaken for lost, but he knows where he’s going. Despite the fact that these hallways are ill-used, and despite the fact that he, personally, has never been here before, he knows exactly where he’s going. 

He is not, however, entirely sure he wants to get there, and it shows in the speed of his footsteps. 

But trust Mike to show up just before the start of exams. Trust Mike to show up one of the busiest weeks of the year, when Jeff’s surrounded by dozens of children, whose whispering, chattering minds are all on edge about tests and the prospect of leaving – or not leaving. It’s not like Jeff doesn’t already have enough to worry about, trying to prepare them the best he knows how to enter the machinations their future holds. It’s not like Jeff’s not currently locked in the middle of negotiating about what exactly that future will look like. It’s not like Jeff has to keep all that – and a million other thoughts – locked down, hidden from the flat, black gaze of those that hold the keys to all those future’s doors. 

No, trust Mike to show up now. Trust Mike to show up at all, when all he had to do was stay gone. 

Slow can’t postpone the inevitable. 

When he arrives, Mike is shaving. He’s managed to hack off most of his wild beard, or someone’s done it for him. They’ve also given him a black uniform, which he seems to have accepted, although the shirt sleeves are rolled to the elbow and the jacket lies discarded on the floor. When he enters the room, Mike glances at Jeff through the bars of his cell, then turns his attention back to the dingy mirror in front of him, and drags the razor once again across his skin. 

Jeff watches him finish a swipe and then swirl the blade through the gray water in the plugged up sink. Mike taps the razor head against the edge of the basin. “This piece of shit they gave me is dull as fuck.” 

Mike sounds different. He has the raspy voice of someone who’s been down on the surface for an extended period, breathing in all that dust. Jeff shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. 

“Help me out?” Mike asks. He holds the razor out towards Jeff. 

Jeff says, “You’re not going to slit your own throat, are you?” 

Mike turns to face him. He gives Jeff that perfectly familiar half-twist of a smile. “Now, why,” he asks, “would I ever make things that easy for you?” 

“Of course,” Jeff deadpans. “My mistake.” 

It doesn’t take more than a second’s thought to sharpen the razor. Mike glances down at it, at the gleam of the new steel along the edge of the blade. He tips it towards Jeff in mock salute, “Thanks.” And resumes his work in front of the mirror. 

Jeff watches him drag it across his throat, over the rise of his Adam’s apple. He watches the gleam of wet skin. 

Mike is still smiling faintly, at his own image, reflected in the mirror. “Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledum? You didn’t bring them to meet me? I’m hurt.” His voice is conversational, as though this were a perfectly normal place to have a conversation. As though any conversation between the two of them could be normal. 

The surge of irritation Jeff gets is as familiar as the feeling of air in his lungs – even in this new context, even in this place where Jeff has never been. That Mike can still do that, with just a word and a look – Jeff doesn’t know if that says more about Mike or more about him. And isn’t it funny that those are now two separate options. Isn’t it funny that they’re two separate things now. Jeff laughs. 

Mike glances at him again, this time just out of the corner of his eye. “What? You think I didn’t hear about how it took two of them to replace me?” 

“They’re not a replacement, Mike. You’re irreplaceable.” Jeff drags out every syllable of the last word. He’s aiming to sound perfectly flat, but bitterness leaks into his voice. He should be more careful. It wouldn’t do to let Mike know he’s getting to Jeff so easily. 

Mike grins, like he can tell, and he probably can, but he doesn’t say anything else. Stroke by stroke, he finishes shaving. He lays the razor down and studies his clean-shaven face in the mirror. Then he turns. “Of course,” he says, with his eyes locked on Jeff, and in a perfect echo of Jeff’s earlier deadpan. “My mistake.” 

_Two can play at this game._ Jeff hears the words in Mike’s singsong in his head so clearly, it’s hard to believe they’re imaginary. But of course, they are. The words aren’t real. It’s just that Jeff knows what Mike sounds like. It’s just that Jeff knows what Mike would say. 

Mike smiles at him. The silence stretches. 

This is so stupid. It was stupid to even come here. Jeff shouldn’t have come. “If you’re waiting for an apology,” Jeff says, “you’re not going to get it.” 

Mike rolls his eyes. “Please. I know you’re not sorry.” 

Jeff’s jaw is so tight it aches. “If I hadn’t of agreed to it, they would have killed you.” 

Mike takes one step toward him. His hands rest on the bars. “And this is better?” 

“It was supposed to be.” The words stick in his throat. 

Mike shakes his head, slow. His eyes never leave Jeff’s. He never stops smiling. “There’s nothing good about this. The only good news, is that I’m going to burn all this down – ” 

Jeff laughs, but even that comes out half-choked. 

“I am.” Mike’s voice turns adamant. “We built this place. And now I’m going to tear it down. I have a plan.” 

“Some plan,” Jeff returns. “You got caught.” 

“Of course I did.” Mike tips his head, eyes tight on Jeff, and Jeff recognizes that look, too. That half-irritated, half-amused look that says he’s just waiting for Jeff to catch up. “How else was I going to get up here to see you?” 

Jeff swallows. The way Mike’s looking at him makes him go cold all over. “I’m leaving.” 

“Come back and see me.” Mike’s back to casual, like this is all a game. 

“I won’t,” Jeff says. 

Mike laughs. He lets Jeff get all the way to the door before he says, “I bet you will.” 

Travis twists his hands together in front of him, his nerves worse than ever. He’s waiting outside Jeff’s office door, working up the courage to knock. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t really know what he’s going to say, but he’s felt sick and anxious all morning, exhausted after a night spent staring up into the dark. 

That morning, Adrian said he hadn’t seen anyone near Travis’ bunk; repeated that, even when Travis had pushed him. Even when Travis had said that he was _100% for real not fucking around_ – then Adrian had finally lost that sleepy, distracted look he’d had all last night and through the morning. But he still said he hadn’t seen anyone. Hadn’t noticed anything weird. And nobody else had asked Travis if he’d found anything. No one had smirked or pried, like you’d think they would, if it had all been a prank. 

If it’s a joke, it’s a really awful one. 

Travis hadn’t said anything to anyone, just shoved the note deep into his pocket. He keeps touching the paper, just to make sure it’s still there. He doesn’t need to pull it out to remember the words: 

_They won’t let you keep him._

Travis only _has_ one person. And the idea of someone taking Lawson away – 

Travis’ stomach knots. He can feel Lawson again, in the back of his mind, pressing him about what’s wrong _now_. About why Travis feels worse and not better today. Morning lessons are separate – Lawson’s been in a classroom on the other side of the Tower since breakfast, but Travis would be shocked if he’s absorbed anything at all, for the amount of time he’s spent in Travis’ head, bugging him. 

“What’s _wrong?_ ” 

Travis doesn’t know what’s wrong. Because nothing makes sense right now and _everything_ feels wrong. There’s a strange man in the Tower, with a mind that feels wrong. And a terrible note that was left in his bunk, and – 

Lawson’s concern ticks up a notch. 

Travis doesn’t know what any of it means. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s just upsetting both of them for no reason. “Nothing,” Travis replies. “Nothing’s wrong.” He shuffles all the information to the contrary to the back of his mind. 

Lawson’s response is a combination of disbelief and irritation. 

“I have to talk to Jeff,” Travis tells him. “Leave me alone.” 

He can feel Lawson’s irritation dial up into real anger, but then he deliberately turns his attention away from Travis, leaving Travis alone in his own mind. 

That just makes Travis’ stomach hurt worse. He raises his hand and knocks on the office door. A voice beckons and Travis enters. He clears his throat. “I was hoping – ” 

He stops. Tanner, one of Jeff’s Batteries, is sitting behind the desk. “I was looking for Jeff,” Travis says. “Is he still holding office hours today?” 

Tanner nods. “He’s just running late.” He gestures at the chair across the desk. 

“Oh.” Travis hesitates, and then comes forward to sit. 

“Can I help you with something?” Tanner asks. 

Travis shakes his head. He reaches a hand into his pocket to touch the paper again. “I’d rather talk to Jeff.” 

Tanner shrugs. “Okay, but, I’m actually the one who put all the review packets together, so if you have questions – ” 

“I’d rather talk to Jeff,” Travis repeats. 

One of Tanner’s eyebrows goes up. “Okay, then.” He falls silent. 

Travis fidgets in his chair. 

Tanner gives him one last look and then turns his attention to a stack of papers in front of him. Grading, Travis realizes, watching his red pen make tick marks on the page. 

Travis grimaces. On top of everything else, he still has exams. Hopefully Tanner’s not grading something from Travis’ class. Hopefully Travis hasn’t offended him. He watches Tanner pause halfway down the page. The pen comes up to tap against his lip. 

Tanner glances up, and when he sees Travis is watching him, he reads off the page, “What is the atomic weight of iron?” He pauses, and then reads the answer that’s been scrawled underneath. “It depends on how much iron.” His eyes flick up to meet Travis’. “How would you mark that?” 

That’s first year stuff. Travis is relieved. “Well.” Travis shrugs. “Wrong.” 

The corner of Tanner’s mouth curves up. “I’ll say.” The red pen slashes a line through the answer. 

“Do you do all the grading?” Travis asks. 

“No, but Jeff’s so busy lately that Tyler and I are helping out.” His eyes are already back on the page in front of him. 

Travis wonders if it was disappointing to be bonded to a teacher – to not to get to go to one of the home colonies after graduation, and instead be stuck in the Tower. On the other hand, it seems like it might be really cool to have Jeff as your Builder, given all the things he can do. Or maybe it’s weird – because Travis can’t imagine being bonded to someone older. He can’t imagine going through school without Lawson. And he can’t imagine having to share him with someone else. 

Did they both bond to Jeff as the same time? Or did one of them come first? Was it a choice, or did it just happen? Did he ever have to worry about Jeff being taken away? 

Travis clears his throat. “Actually, can I ask you something?” 

Tanner looks up, eyes steady on Travis. “Sure.” 

Travis hesitates. “What’s it like – being one of two Batteries? I just can’t – it seems like that would be strange.” 

Tanner’s mouth twists. “I think it’s different when your Builder has been bonded before.” 

Travis frowns at that. “Been bonded before?” 

Tanner instantly looks regretful. Then he glances away – looking sharply towards the door. 

Jeff enters, just a second later. He has dark circles under his eyes and the smile he gives them both is tight. He nods at Tanner, who begins to pack up. “Thank you.” And then he turns to Travis. “Hey, Travis. What’s up?” 

Travis waits to speak until Tanner has left and shut the door behind him, and that gets him a raised eyebrow from Jeff. 

“Last night – ” Travis starts. There’s so much he wants to say, but now that Jeff is actually here and sitting across from him, it all seems jumbled in his head. He wants to say everything at once, but his throat closes, filled with a sharp ache. 

He doesn’t know where to start because none of it makes sense, not the words on the note or the note itself. Not the man they brought back, or his unquiet mind. Not the strange sense of dread he’s been filled with all week that has nothing and everything to do with the looming deadline of graduation. 

“Travis?” There’s a heavier, worried tone in Jeff’s voice now. 

Travis shakes his head. None of it makes sense. Doesn’t make any sense that someone would take Lawson away from him Doesn’t make sense unless – 

He thinks about Jeff, and his two younger Batteries, and what Tanner said about being bonded before. He thinks about the unbonded Builders in the dining hall yesterday. He thinks about the crowd of gray, unbonded Batteries that make up most of their class. 

Travis swallows. He bites down on his lip. “The Builders that come back from the colonies are old. Or, not old, but – ” He’s not trying to offend, but it’s so hard to get it out in a way that’s coherent at all. His words come slow. “But older than us. And – ” He stops again and swallows. “Bonded pairs don’t come back. Batteries never come back.” 

Travis lifts his eyes to meet Jeff’s gaze. He works to keep the shake out of his voice. “Is someone going to take Lawson away from me?” 

Jeff sits back heavily in his seat. “Why would you ask that?” 

That’s not an answer. Travis reaches into his pocket. He pulls the note free and places it on the desk between them. “Last night, this was on my bunk.” 

Jeff reaches out very slowly. Travis watches him pick it up. He runs his fingers across its surface before unfolding the paper and reading the contents. 

Jeff’s face darkens. Just for a moment, there’s real anger on his face, enough to make Travis shrink back in his chair, before Jeff tamps it down. Jeff swallows, features clearing. He re-folds the note, although he doesn’t offer it back to Travis. “Someone’s just messing with you,” he says. “A stupid prank, but – just a prank.” 

Travis shakes his head in denial. It’s not just a prank, and it’s not just the note – 

“You and Lawson are a good pair.” Jeff’s voice is adamant. He leans forward. “You’re going to do a lot of very good work, for a very long time – ” 

But that’s still not an answer. The stone in Travis’ throat is just getting worse. He has to force the words out around it. “What happens to the Batteries? What’s going to happen to me?” 

Jeff’s face is placating. “You don’t need to worry about – ” 

He’s not listening. Travis presses on, speaking over him. “I can feel – _something_ ,” he says. “Some other kind of mind.” 

Jeff’s mouth snaps shut. 

“Not a Battery. Not a Builder,” Travis continues. “I think maybe it was always there, but I couldn’t recognize it. Not until I felt one up close. Or maybe it’s new. But – there’s definitely something else here. And someone left me that note.” 

Jeff closes his eyes. He takes a breath, gathering himself. And when he opens his eyes, he looks exhausted. He looks sad. “You’ve got Lawson. You’ve got meals and a safe place to sleep. You’ve also got exams coming up and graduation – it’s natural to be stressed about that. And your mind can play all kinds of tricks under stress.” 

“It’s not – my mind’s not playing tricks on me,” Travis insists. 

“I believe it felt real to you,” Jeff says. “And I’m sorry, but I do have to go now. I have an appointment. Tanner will be back soon, if you need any more help.” He stands all in a rush, and without another word, leaves. 

Travis sits in mute fury. Jeff is lying. He’s lying about needing to leave. He’s lying about not believing Travis – he was angry earlier – he _was,_ just as angry as Travis is now.And he didn’t – 

Travis tries to slow his breathing. He didn’t answer _any_ of Travis’ questions. And Travis just let him walk out of here, let Jeff treat him like some child, who won’t think to question anything. Who will shut up when he’s told and not think at all. 

Anger burns under his skin. 

And then his eyes light on Jeff’s teacher ID card, left lying on the desk. 

When night falls on the Tower, Adrian can’t sleep. When he does manage to close his eyes, his mind slips into an uneasy half-lucid, half-dreaming state. His thoughts skip too fast, filled with images and sensations that leave him restless and aching. He snaps into full wakefulness again and again with his jaw clenched, his head throbbing, his skin flushed. 

He kicks the covers back; he’s too warm all over. He stares up at the bottom of TK’s bunk and listens to the sounds of even breathing and snoring all around him. A room full of peaceful and uninterrupted sleepers. 

Adrian hates them. He hates everyone that’s getting rest. Hates everyone that doesn’t feel like their own mind is trying to drag them out of bed and across the Tower. But most of all, he hates Paul. If he could get to Paul right now, Adrian would give him a piece of his mind. He would yell like Paul’s never been yelled at before. Because if he’s not going to bond with Adrian, then he needs to the hell out of the Tower and go back to whatever home colony he refuses to remember so that Adrian can get some fucking _sleep_. 

Adrian flips over onto his stomach. He pulls his pillow down over his head, like that might drown any of these sensations out. 

It doesn’t, of course. 

Adrian squeezes his eyes shut. He hates Paul, and he hates him most fiercely in these dark, still hours because it’s so much easier to be simply angry during the day. At night, he can feel the loneliness creep in at the edges of his thoughts. He’s here, and so is Paul. But Paul doesn’t want him. 

Stupid, he tells himself. Paul showed up. Which means some other bond-compatible Builder could show up too. Maybe next week. Maybe tomorrow. 

Or maybe they won’t ever show up. Adrian pushes that thought away. 

Someone will. And they’ll be better than this hateful, strange-looking man who won’t have anything to do with him. And then Adrian won’t be alone. 

There’s a thump next to his head. Adrian cracks an eye open. In the dark, he can make out the shape of TK letting go of the ladder and stepping away from the bunk. He thinks, at first, that TK is just up to use the bathroom, but then TK pulls on his pants, and at the end of the bunk, he turns the wrong way. He turns towards the door that leads out of their quarters to the hall. 

Adrian sits up. He shivers, but he feels too hot. He feels feverish. He watches TK move silently down the row of bunks. TK walks carefully, but with a purpose. He’s going somewhere. 

Adrian makes a quick decision and follows him. He reaches TK just as TK has reached the door to the hall. He stretches out and grabs TK’s shoulder. 

TK spins and just barely bites back a yell. He glares at Adrian, breathing hard. “What are you doing?” 

“What am I doing?” Adrian hisses back. “What are _you_ doing up? Where are you going?” 

TK narrows his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Bullshit,” Adrian says, as loud as he dares. 

TK holds a finger to his lips. He glances around, and in a lower voice, says, “I’m going to the west wing.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I _am_.” TK looks shifty. “I stole a keycard.” And he fixes Adrian with a hard glare, like a warning not ask any more questions. 

That’s fine. That’s all Adrian needs to know. And the words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to think, “I’m going with you.” He folds his arms across his chest. 

TK is already shaking his head. “No. I’m not taking you with me just because you’re bored – ” 

“I’m not _bored –_ ” __

“Or _whatever.”_ TK glares. “This is important. There’s something in there. I don’t know what it is, but I need to find out – ” 

“I don’t care what you’re looking for.” Adrian’s too tired to be anything but honest. “I just need to get through that door, and find this Builder. And tell him he can fuck right off.” 

TK’s mouth snaps shut. 

“Plus, if you don’t take me with you, I’ll yell for the Monitors,” Adrian finishes. 

TK looks furious. “Fine,” he hisses. And then quiet as he can, he opens the door to the hall. 

The hallway outside is silent. The lights are dimmed, their low hum and the steady roar of the air handlers the only sounds. And even as quiet as Adrian and TK are trying to be, their footsteps seem loud against the metal floor. The Tower really isn’t all that big, and they reach the door to the west wing quickly. Adrian tries the handle. 

Locked. 

“It’s always locked,” TK says, low. From his pocket, he produces the ID card and holds it to the panel on the wall. 

There’s an audible click. 

When Adrian tries the door again, it opens. 

Before them stretches a long, empty hallway. The walls are covered in strange panels, made of a material Adrian doesn’t recognize. Almost as soon as they cross the threshold, TK stops, his head bent forward, his steps faltering. 

Adrian glances back. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s – it’s hard to hear Lawson in here. It’s like he’s muffled?” TK’s voice sounds uncertain. 

Adrian looks in both directions. Silence and stillness all around them, but if TK’s not going to follow through with it, he needs to make up his mind now, because Adrian has things to do. “Are you going back?” 

TK shakes his head. He straightens and braces himself. “No. Whatever’s in here – it’s a lot louder now. I need to know what it is.” 

Adrian doesn’t know exactly what it is TK’s feeling, but he’s right that behind the door, everything in the west wing is louder. The further they venture into the hall, the more his own mind presses his steps to hurry. And if he felt feverish before, he burns now. His mind becomes a single-thought: _forward_. Forward towards Paul. Forward towards the pull of his mind. They reach the end of the hall and at the first fork, Adrian turns, automatic, in the direction he needs to go. 

TK calls out to him again, and his steps hesitate. “I can’t – I can’t hear him at all now.” 

Adrian doesn’t know what TK wants him to do about it. It’s not Adrian’s fault TK bonded to a Builder the first chance he got and never learned to hack it alone. And it was TK’s idea to sneak in here, anyway. And frankly, Adrian does not have the mental capacity right now to do anything more than put one foot in front of the other, and think about what he’s going to yell _first_. 

He hears TK’s footsteps start up again behind him, but he doesn’t care. Paul is this way. Adrian needs to go this way. He turns a corner – 

And runs straight into a Monitor. 

Black, flat eyes peer down at him, face already twisting into an admonishing frown. 

Startled, panicked adrenaline floods through Adrian, and brings with it he first real, clear thought he’s had in days: he’s going to be in so much trouble. 

Adrian runs. 

He runs blindly, without paying any attention to where he’s going, or what’s behind him. He turns down corridors without thinking. He runs until a door opens just before he goes past, someone leans out and Adrian has to skid to a halt to avoid hitting them. It takes Adrian just a split second to recognize Paul’s face. 

“Get in,” Paul hisses. 

 

 

Adrian leans against the wall, bent nearly in half, gasping, neckline of his shirt damp with sweat. His hands are clammy. When he recovers enough to look around, he studies the small room. It’s barren of decoration, doesn’t even have a window. A bed and a desk dominate the available space. The door to the closet stands open, and Adrian can see it’s filled with rust red uniforms, most of them thrust haphazardly onto shelves instead of folded. 

The bed is unmade. Adrian recognizes the rumpled sheets as the same starchy white ones they have in the Battery quarters. The same kind of blanket lies tangled and kicked to the foot of the bed. The desk is mostly bare – nothing but a uniform jacket tossed across one side, and a row of tiny animals – made of intricately folded colored paper, marching across the side of the desk flush to the wall. 

Paul is still standing by the door, one hand resting on the knob. He’s dressed in just a t-shirt and shorts. His hair stands askew, pointing in a half-dozen directions. He was clearly in bed, just moments ago. 

Probably sleeping peacefully, Adrian thinks. _Asshole_. 

Adrian clears his throat to speak. Paul half-turns towards him, and now Adrian can see his arm, from shoulder to wrist, is covered in twisting designs. Lines and patterns in red and black and green. Adrian recognizes the image of bleeding heart, the twisting curves of an electron orbital, a mountain range with three peaks. The designs stop just exactly short of where the cuff of his uniform jacket would reach. 

Adrian’s staring. And it feels strange, suddenly, being in here. Being in Paul’s space. Being alone with this person who Adrian doesn’t know anything about. Someone who probably doesn’t want him here. Adrian doesn’t feel angry anymore. He doesn’t want to yell. He feels scared. He wants to be back in his quarters. He wants to go. 

Adrian straightens. 

Paul holds out a hand, and then he raises a finger to his lips. His eyes are still on the door. 

He’s waiting. 

There is a knock at the door, sudden and sharp. Adrian’s heart catches in his throat. Paul waves him back, to the side, and Adrian inches away and presses himself hard against the wall. 

Paul opens the door. 

“We have some students out of quarters.” The Monitor’s voice is perfectly even and toneless. “Have you seen or heard anything?” 

Paul shakes his head. He keeps his body positioned in the doorway. “Nope. Sorry.” 

The Monitor hesitates. “I see. Thank you. So sorry for the interruption.” 

“No problem,” Paul says. There’s a stiff smile on his face that falls away as soon as he closes the door behind the Monitor. He waits, and they both listen as the Monitor’s steps shuffle away, listen to the faint sound of him knocking on the next door. 

Paul exhales. He turns and glares at Adrian. “You,” he says, low and rough, “are not supposed to be in here.” 

No. But then Paul’s probably not supposed to help him. Not supposed to hide him from the Monitor. Adrian narrows his eyes. “I had to come,” he says. The dark glare Paul is giving him actually helps. It reminds him how pissed off he is about all this. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. All I can do is _feel_ you pulling on me – ” 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. But this – ” Paul’s voice is low but vehement. He gestures sharply back and forth between them. “This is not part of the plan. You need to go. You need to go back to your room, right now.” He opens the door a crack, and pokes his head out, looking right and left. “That Monitor’s got a bunch more doors to knock on. If you go now, you should be able to make it back out, okay?” He ducks back in, and reaches for Adrian, taking him by the shoulders like he means to bodily steer him out into the hall. 

Even through his t-shirt, the warmth of that touch lights up everything inside Adrian. If he felt a pull before, now it’s like he’s being launched forward. He can feel something in him, something spinning out from him. He can feel Paul’s mind, lit up like a spotlight, and there’s no choice in it, there’s no thought, there’s no decision – he just grabs. He grabs, and with everything in him, he holds on. 

Paul’s eyes go wide. He looks down at Adrian, looks down at his hands on Adrian’s shoulders. He says, “Oh, _crap._ ” 

Travis sees nothing more than a half-glimpse of the Monitor’s figure before he spins and starts to run. He doesn’t stop, even after he hits the hallway back out of the west wing. He sprints down it, footfalls clattering, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out, to get back. He fights down a sick feeling in his guts and goes faster. He bursts through the door at the end of the hall. 

He runs headlong into Lawson. 

The relief is immediate. Lawson grabs him, wraps around him. His arms are tight around Travis’ shoulders and his mind clings to Travis’ mind. Travis gasps, half-crushed against his chest. 

“I woke up and you were gone,” Lawson says. “I woke up, and I couldn’t feel you. And you were angry before, and then you were _gone_ , you were – ” 

His words stutter to a halt, his breathing rasps. Travis winds his arms up and around Lawson’s neck and pulls himself in, as close as he can get. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m back. I’m here.” He presses his face to Lawson’s. He presses in against him. Opens his mind to Lawson and pulls him in, breathing through the panicked flood that pours out of him. _Here. Back. With you_. Over and over again, until both of them can breathe. 

Lawson’s grip on him doesn’t loosen. He doesn’t lift his face from where it’s pressed to Travis’ skin. And right there in the hallway, Travis lays it all out: the worry, the anxiety of the last few days. The note. Jeff’s half-answers. The strange, skipping static that got so much louder beyond the door to the west wing. 

Lawson’s hold on him tightens so much it hurts. Breathing hard against his ear, he says in Travis’ mind, “I wouldn’t let anyone take you away from me.” 

Travis presses in even closer. Moving into that touch that has always meant home and safety and comfort. __

Law finally lifts his face, and Travis can see that his eyes are wet. His face is red. 

“Here,” Travis repeats. “I’m here. I’m back. I’m with you.” 

Lawson’s breath shudders out. Travis rests his head against Lawson’s chest, right above the thump of his heart. He closes his eyes. 

They’re back together. Things are going to be fine, because whatever it is, they’ll face it down together. Lawson’s not letting go of him. He’s never letting go of Lawson. Travis exhales. 

And then he feels Lawson go stiff. His grip on Travis tightens anew. 

Travis knows what he’s going to see even before he opens his eyes. 

The Monitor stands before them, just a few feet away. Travis never heard his footsteps. He never heard the door. But here he is, expressionless eyes locked on them. The Monitor smiles, a stiff curl of his mouth that occurs with a delay too long to feel natural. “You need to come with me,” he says. 

Lawson straightens. They’ve never, either one of them, ever disobeyed one of the noble minds. They’ve never had a reason to. But now, Lawson steps between Travis and the Monitor. 

“Law – ” Travis starts. 

The Monitor opens his navy coat to reveal a laser hanging at his side. “It doesn’t have to hurt,” he says, voice still perfectly even. Face still smiling. “But it can.” 

 

 

There’s nowhere to run. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide, and they’ve never – they’ve never had to, before. They’ve never been afraid like this before. 

They walk slowly, with the Monitor just behind them. He guides them back through the door Travis just came through. Back into the west wing. 

Lawson takes his hand and holds it tight in his. 

Travis is barely breathing, but even moving down the hall, he can still hear Lawson. He can still feel Lawson in his mind, even after the door swings shut behind them. “In this together,” Travis says in his head. 

“Always,” Lawson answers him. He keeps his eyes forward. 

The Monitor directs them left at the end of the hall, where before Travis and Adrian had turned right. Travis glances down the branch they aren’t taking. He wonders if Adrian got away. 

“Such a good pair, you two. Such a strong bond.” The Monitor sounds admiring, and the words slide out calm and even. “We have a name for a bond like that. Do you know what it is?” 

Travis glances back over his shoulder at the Monitor. He shakes his head. 

“We call that a sigma bond. Very rare. Very special.” The Monitor smiles at him, in their tight, blank way, that doesn’t reach their eyes. The tips of bright, white teeth show. “You can do very special things with a bond like that. I’ll show you.” He gestures for them to take another left, and leads them down another hallway. Each corridor is wider than the last, until they come out into a vast and spacious room. One whole wall is a window. Even bigger than the east vista window. 

Travis steps towards it, involuntarily drawn. He can feel Lawson’s surprise and awe in his head. The night sky stretches before them, lit up with scattered stars. The gray shadows of clouds race below. And there, at the very center of the view, dotted with its own blazing lights, is a second Tower. 

Travis stares, unable to look away. 

“Look.” Lawson points and draws his attention. And now, Travis can make out, just beyond the second Tower, the partially-constructed skeleton of a third. 

“They are incredible feats of engineering and design,” the Monitor says. He nods to someone, and now Travis can see there are three more Monitors standing in the shadows in the other side of the room, their hands folded before them, their eyes tracking Travis and Lawson. “And of course, the raw energy needed to conjure and shape all those tons of steel and copper and concrete and iron is tremendous.” He draws in a long breath, and his gaze shifts from the window to Travis and Lawson. “Do you have any idea how much energy a bond like yours gives off,” the Monitor says, “when it breaks?” 

Travis can feel Lawson’s horror like a cold front climbing up the back of his mind. He can feel Lawson reaching for him. Travis reaches back. 

The Monitor takes a step towards them, and behind him, the others follow. 

Travis doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen, or how to stop it. And so like a broadcast sent out across the waters, like a tolling alarm in the deep, Travis reaches inside himself, and on every frequency he can find, as loud as he possibly can, he screams for help. 

Jeff lets the door slam behind him. “Are you fucking with my students now?” he snaps as he enters. 

Mike at least has the decency to startle. And then he rises to his feet. He comes to the front of his cell. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

But there’s a grin playing around his mouth. Something pleased in his expression, like he’s holding back a smirk. And even if Jeff can’t hear him in his head anymore, he knows one of Mike’s lies when it’s written across his face. 

Jeff comes right up to him, just inches from Mike. He throws the half-wadded note at his face. “Stay away from my students.” There was a time when he could pour all of his rage straight into Mike’s head, but for now he settles for spitting out the words one by one, vicious and distinct. 

Mike catches it. He smoothes the paper between his fingers. Opens it, and breaks into a real grin. “Jeff,” he looks up, still smiling, voice admonishing. “You know I couldn’t do this. I’m no Builder. Can’t pull paper out of thin air.” 

“You’re working with someone.” 

“I’m working with a lot of people,” Mike says. “But I’d rather be working with you.” 

“Why would you do this?” Jeff spits back at him. “They’re children, Mike. They’re _kids._ ” 

Mike’s amusement slips. His mouth goes sour. “Strange of you to be so protective, given that you know what’s going to happen to them. Given that you’re going to help it happen.” 

“Shut up.” Jeff warns. “You don’t have any idea how hard I’ve worked, or what I’ve managed to salvage. You weren’t here, so shut your fucking mouth.” 

“Or what?” Mike spits back. 

Jeff could push the iron bars that hold him apart with a thought. And then he could get his hands around Mike’s throat. If he wanted, he could bring the ceiling down, he could finish off both of them. Jeff’s hands ball at his sides; he can feel them shake. 

Mike’s eyes are fixed on his, black and blazing, his skin pale above the black collar of his uniform. 

Jeff can hear the iron groan, giving in to the twist. 

“Sometimes you can’t just wait around for things to happen,” Mike says. “Sometimes you have to _make_ things happen. Give things a little push in the right direction.” 

“What are you talking about?” Jeff spits. 

“I had to make sure it would happen soon.” Mike’s voice is adamant. His eyes still locked on Jeff. “But you still have time to pick a side. You still have time to decide.” 

Jeff falters. “Mike?” 

Mike reaches through the bars, serpent-quick. But there’s no strike, just his hand, warm, curling around the back of Jeff’s neck. A steady pressure pulling him in closer. So close their foreheads could almost touch. “I’m going to do this with or without you,” Mike whispers. “But I’d rather do it with you. I mean it, even after everything.” His fingers stroke lightly across the nape of Jeff’s neck. 

Jeff’s breathing has gone uneven. He shakes his head. “I don’t – ” 

“If I sent someone to find trouble, it was because I needed them to find trouble. I needed it to happen soon.” Mike steps back, and he looks so sad that for a moment, Jeff aches. 

“I still don’t know what you’re – ” Jeff trails off. Because in that moment, he does. He knows exactly what Mike’s set into motion. “No,” Jeff starts, his head shaking. “No – ” 

A cry peals through the air. Or, not the air. It rings only inside Jeff’s head, but with such volume and such force that it knocks the breath from his lungs. It pushes him back a step, sends him stumbling to one knee. A cry of pure, desperate terror. 

Mike watches him gasp and try to steady himself. Mike’s eyes are shining, his face looks broken open. He drops to his knees to bring himself eye-level to Jeff and his hands clutch at the bars. “It’s happening now, isn’t it? It’s happening again. Are you going to let it happen, Jeff?” He’s staring at Jeff, eyes boring into him, voice thick and almost cracking. 

“Are you going to let it happen again?” 

Paul’s hands slide down his shoulders and close on Adrian’s wrists. Adrian scrabbles at the front of Paul’s shirt, grabbing ahold, struggling for balance in a world that seems to have suddenly tipped sideways. The lights are too bright and Paul looms too close. Adrian’s stomach flips over, and for one humiliating second, he thinks he’s going to puke, right there on the floor. 

“Easy, easy, easy,” Paul murmurs at him. 

Adrian breathes: long, slow, deliberate breaths. Paul moves back, giving him space. His grip on Adrian’s wrists loosens. 

“Don’t leave,” Adrian says. Too quick to sound anything but desperate. His fingers clutch once again at Paul’s shirt. “Don’t let go. Don’t send me away.” His jaw is clenched so tight it hurts, and he realizes only belatedly that’s he’s been speaking, but none of the words have been out loud. 

“Relax,” Paul says, but he doesn’t let go. “That’s not really an option now.” He still doesn’t sound exactly happy about it. He tries to shift away again, and Adrian gets another spike of panic. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s just – ” Paul puts his arm around Adrian’s shoulders. “Let’s try this.” He steers both of them towards the bed, maneuvers them so they sit next to each other. His arm stays firmly around Adrian. Adrian appreciates that, even if he’s not sure he wants Paul to know how much he appreciates that. Except – maybe Paul already does? Maybe he can hear every thought running through Adrian’s head? _Can he_ hear every thought running through Adrian’s head? 

Adrian turns to stare. Does he know about all the hateful things Adrian wanted to call him? Adrian would ask, but the world is swimming again. He feels a weird doubling of his sense of self and it’s disorienting. As if, if he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t be sure where exactly on the bed he was sitting. Adrian looks down at the floor, instead. 

“Just breathe,” Paul says. He pats Adrian’s shoulder. A strangely casual comfort. 

He’s warm next to Adrian. Adrian can feel the heat of his body, and the weight of his arm across Adrian’s shoulder. And he can also feel the pull and drift of his mind. A feeling of banked energy. And he discovers that he can, if he presses, feel something of Paul. He can feel the rough outlines of thoughts that aren’t his. More like impressions and moods than anything distinct. 

One thing, though, is very, very clear: Paul is not happy with what’s just happened. 

A wash of hurt rolls over Adrian. They’re stuck together now, and he’s already a disappointment. A burden. Adrian tries telling himself that it’s just because Paul doesn’t know him. He’ll find out what Adrian’s capable of, and then he’ll be fine with it. He’ll be excited. But Adrian can’t make the twisting feeling in his stomach go away, and a burn starts up behind his eyes. 

Paul glances over at him. “Hey – no.” He gives Adrian a light shake and his thoughts clear. “Sorry. I didn’t mean – it’s just – it’s been awhile since my last Battery. I need to adjust, too.” 

Adrian frowns down at the floor. “Since your last Battery? How many Batteries have you had?” 

Paul hesitates long enough for Adrian to glance over at him, but his face is blank. His mind is blank now, too. He’s impossible to read. “You’re my fourth,” Paul says, a note of caution in his voice. 

“Your _fourth_?” No wonder it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to Paul. Adrian scowls at him, offended. 

Paul rubs a hand across his eyes. “God. This was not part of the plan.” 

“What plan?” Paul’s refusal to explain anything is so frustrating. And then Adrian realizes he could probably just read that information straight from Paul’s mind. He could just take it. He reaches – 

And is rewarded with what feel like a hard shove, pushing him back, even though Paul hasn’t moved, and never lifted a hand. “Hey. Rude,” Paul says, and then he rolls his eyes, at himself or Adrian, it’s unclear. “God, you’re so young. We’re bonded now, in it together, right? So if you want to know something, I’ll tell you. But you can’t just – grab.” 

Adrian winces. Paul’s shove didn’t hurt, but the embarrassment stings. Adrian’s not quite ready to meet Paul’s eyes, so he reaches over, across the desk and plucks one of the paper animals out of line and focuses on that instead. He holds it carefully, tracing his fingers over its folded lines. The creature has delicate legs, made of intricate, spiraling folds. A long neck and a small, tapered head. “What is it?” he asks. 

“It’s supposed to be giraffe.” Paul lets out a small cough. “I was always good with paper.” He holds his hand out for it, like he’s not sure he wants Adrian holding it. Or maybe he’s just embarrassed. Maybe Builders aren’t supposed to build things just for fun. Adrian sets the tiny creature in his palm. 

“Sorry. I’ve never seen a giraffe before,” Adrian admits. Maybe that makes him sound young. 

“Well,” Paul says. “That makes two of us.” He smiles, careful and small, but it feels encouraging. 

Adrian smiles back. Maybe this will be okay. “So what’s this plan, then?” 

Paul takes a breath. “There’s not really an easy way to say this, but.” He chuckles. “But, lucky you. Guess what you bonded into? I’m here to help destroy the Tower.” 

Adrian blinks at him. This is not going to be okay, because Paul must be insane. Adrian is bonded to an insane person. He pulls away and stares. “Why would you want to destroy the Tower?” 

“Adrian, they lied to you.” Paul’s not laughing anymore. He looks serious. 

“Lied?” The Tower is the only home Adrian remembers. Is the only home _any_ of them remember. He’s never left. The Tower is his whole world. Even the idea that it _could_ be destroyed is insane. And as to why – because they lied? “Who? About _what_?” 

Paul looks exhausted. “You’re so impossibly, stupidly young.” 

Back to this again, and what does that have to do with anything? “I’m _not,”_ Adrian insists. “And you’re not answering me.” 

Paul winces. “You don’t have to yell. I’m right here.” He takes a beat and looks at Adrian with sharper focus. “You are strong.” 

Adrian had completely lost track of whether he was speaking out loud or not, but Paul doesn’t need to know that. He lifts his chin. “I told you.” 

Paul’s mouth twists. The barest hint of smile. “You did.” 

Adrian makes himself take a breath. He gnaws at his lip. This has to be salvageable. Maybe Paul can be talked out of this and not end Adrian’s career before it even begins. “Anyway. Even if someone did lie about something, we’re not going to be here much longer. We’re going to go back to Regis.” This, Adrian assumes, since Paul doesn’t seem to care about his own home colony. Once they’re there, they’ll make beautiful, necessary things, they’ll be far away, and what happens at the Tower won’t matter. 

Paul looks down at his hands. He rubs at the inked lines that stop just short of his wrist. “That’s part of the lie,” he says. He looks at Adrian. “There are no home colonies. There’s no Regis. The Monitors made that up to keep us motivated. To split us into thirty factions, to give us hope, I don’t know. Who knows why they do the things they do.” He pauses, and Adrian can see his throat work. “There’s just the poisoned surface that everyone has to scrape out a living on – except for them. They’ve harnessed us to build these towers to lift them above all that.” 

It’s too – it’s impossible. Adrian shakes his head. “You’re wrong,” he says. “You’re lying.” 

Paul meets his eyes. “You can look in my head. Look in my head and tell me if I’m lying.” 

He isn’t. 

And there are memories there, newer ones of the surface. Older ones, of a half-built Tower. And three faces that Adrian’s not sure he wants to see. And old pain – 

Paul clears his throat. His hand squeezes Adrian’s leg, just above the knee. 

Adrian snaps back to the present. 

“They use us to build Towers,” Paul says. “They use pairs until the Battery burns out, and then they break the bond.” He swallows, like the words are sticking in his throat. “Then they discard you on the surface, and me – they bond me off to someone new. Battery after Battery until I’m exhausted and can’t remember what it was like to share my mind with someone I actually liked. Or to be alone with my own thoughts.” His words trail to a halt. “Unless I manage to duck out of it. And that’s what they’re lying about. Or, at least one of the things they’re lying about.” 

“I don’t – ” Adrian is fighting down a new sense of panic. Because – “I know you didn’t want this, but I don’t want _that_. I don’t want them to break the bond. I’ve waited for you for _forever_. And I don’t – I don’t understand.” 

“That’s why we’re doing it,” Paul says slowly. “That’s why we’re destroying the Tower. So they can’t do this anymore. Because it doesn’t have to be like this.” 

The future is suddenly a vast, wholly unknown thing. He stares at Paul. “Who’s we?” 

“I’m working with – it doesn’t matter who I’m working with – the only thing that matters is – ” 

The ground under their feet begins to tremble. There’s a roaring sound, and everything on the shelves begins to rattle and shake. The walls themselves seem to ripple. Paul’s eyes are riveted to the west. 

“It’s starting.” 

Travis takes a step back, and then another. The Monitor looms huge and silent in front of them. Lawson backs with him. His grip on Travis’ hand is crushing. 

“I won’t give him up,” Lawson says, his eyes are fixed on the Monitor. “I won’t let you take him.” 

The Monitor holds out his hands to them, placating. Behind him, the others stand frozen, faces a perfect blank. The first Monitor’s head tips, an expression of confusion crosses his face, as though he can’t quite understand what all the fuss is about. “Now, now.” It comes out as a light admonishment. “You didn’t think one Battery would last you forever, did you?” 

Travis’ chest hurts. He can hardly breathe. Next to him, Lawson’s chest is heaving, eyes wide and furious. He’s trying to pull Travis behind him, as though that might stop whatever’s about to happen. “You can’t take him,” he says. 

“Normally, we let a bond last until the Battery runs down, but one like yours – ” The Monitor shakes his head, admiration written all across his face. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And it will never be stronger than it is right now. We need to harvest that energy at its peak.” He smilies at them, as though he expects them to understand. As though he expects them to agree. 

Travis’ heart thuds wild and loud in his chest. He’s numb – his skin cold – because the Monitor is speaking to Lawson. His eyes are only on Lawson. Travis is simply something to be used and discarded. Something to be cast off when he’s no longer useful. And what if – if he has to do it – what if Lawson – 

“No.” Lawson’s voice is loud and final inside his head. Blazing as light through fog, ringing like steel striking steel. “When I saw you, I knew you were mine. And that I was yours.” The love around his words reverberates through every inch of him. “And I won’t let them take you away.” 

He forces Travis behind him. The Monitor draws closer with every second, one hand now extended towards them, long, pale fingers outstretched. “We need you, Lawson. I keep telling you, this doesn’t have to hurt. We don’t have to hurt either of you.” 

They’ve backed up so far Travis’ back hits the glass of the window, trapped between the cold of the glass and the heat of Lawson in front of him. 

“If you don’t let me break the bond, there are other ways to end it.” The Monitor’s voice spirals to a low hiss at the end. Travis sees a flash of something very cold under his smiling face. 

Travis squeezes his eyes shut, gasping against Lawson’s shoulder, fingers clutching hard. He’s dizzy with terror and adrenaline, and Lawson’s thoughts are racing with his. Lawson’s pulling him so close, he can feel the warp and weft of Lawson’s mind all around him, but just beyond that, right in front of them, he can feel something building within the Monitor, a charge crackling and spinning to life, licking tendrils of energy starting towards them. 

And then something else. Pulsing strong and sudden, Travis feels a tug. The great shift in gravity of a powerful Builder close at hand, and a shadow of something wild and staticky moving closer. 

A voice – Jeff’s – says, “Stop.” 

Travis opens his eyes. Jeff stands at the far side of the room, and he has the man with the staticky, broken-feeling mind at his side. 

Broken-feeling, Travis realizes in a daze, because his bond has been shattered. A discarded Battery, now dressed in black. 

Jeff stares down the Monitor. “This isn’t what we agreed on for them. You said you’d give them time.” Jeff spits the words. “You promised me.” 

“Plans change.” The Monitor’s voice is beseeching. “And you yourself know how dangerous it can be when Batteries start asking questions. When they become – ” He pauses, and his eyes flick to Mike, “ – uncooperative.” 

Jeff’s hands ball at his sides and Travis can feel a tremor run across the floor. “You’re not going to do this. I’m done helping you. I’m done letting you do this.” 

All of the Monitors are looking at Jeff now. In unison, they fold their hands. One says, “There’s no need to get upset, Jeff. There’s no need. Look at these wonderful things we can build.” He gestures at the window. “And now with Lawson – with the energy from the bond – we’ll be able to do so much. So much for everyone.” 

Lawson’s grip tightens on Travis’ arm. “He’s crazy, if he thinks I would help them, crazy – ” 

But will Jeff? Because stopping them will mean tearing down everything. It will mean rebuilding the entire system, their entire world – 

“I’m done,” Jeff says. The building shakes. 

The rattle and groan makes everyone freeze. The man standing next to Jeff holds out a hand, trying to brace himself. “We have a plan, Jeff,” he says, alarm in his voice. “We can do this a controlled way – ” 

Jeff shivers and the room shivers with him. He shakes his head. His voice sounds vacant; his voice sounds broken. “They’ll rebuild. They’ll just start again. This all has to end. This all has to come down.” 

Something cracks. 

The man standing next to Jeff’s mouth falls open. His eyes are wide and fixed on a spot behind Travis and Lawson. Travis turns. 

A line now scars the vast window behind them. And spiraling out from it are dozens and dozens of cracks, circling and splintering the pane, and while he watches, the whole surface turns into a fine, white lace. 

The window explodes outward – a mad crash of crystal, almost musical, almost the sound of falling water. Pieces of glass spin in the air and catch the light and the whole room is ablaze with dancing, wayward flashes. A diamond-sharp mist in the air. 

The wind roars in. Louder than anything Travis has ever heard. The wind knocks both of them back, and sends them sprawling to the floor. A wind so fast and hard, it’s like a scream going past them, like the building itself is sucking in a great breath. From everywhere, comes the sound of doors slamming and the structure all around them moans and trembles. 

The wind tears them apart and sends Travis tumbling to the floor. Travis scrambles at the tile, trying to gain purchase. Debris is all around him, blinding him. He hears something crash and the scarping sound of something very heavy sliding. A chunk of cement has torn loose, and it tumbles towards them. Towards Lawson. 

From the angle, if it hits Lawson, it will take him over the lip of the shattered window. 

Travis will not lose him to a Monitor. And he will not lose him like this. 

He fights his way to Lawson, and he shoves. Lawson screams for him, and it must be in his mind, because the wind is a train is a roar is all consuming. 

Something hits him hard, and it’s good. It’s good, because if one of them makes it, it needs to be Lawson. He can feel Lawson grab for him, and he feels Lawson’s fingers slip. Purchase found then lost. And Travis is caught again by the wind. He slides, and then there’s nothing – 

No ground under his feet. No sound but the shrieking whistle of the air as he slices through it. So cold it pulls tears from his eyes. He flails against nothing, against the air itself, as he plunges downward, faster by the second – 

He hits against something, catches on something – but something with give. It wrenches him, but it’s not a fatal stop. Beneath and around him, like foam at first, then in less than a second, solidifying into fine strands of sisal that twist into rope. He is caught. By a net. A net whose trailings are racing impossibly upward, are being spun, second by second, out of the air itself up and up and up. And Travis slows and stops. And hangs. 

The wind blinds him and sets this makeshift net spinning. The cold numbs his hands. His throat is raw. But he is moving upward. Impossibly, terribly slowly back upward. The lip of the window looms distant overhead. And then closer. And then so close he could reach out and almost touch. 

Many hands pull him inside. The rope snags and frays on bits of glass, but someone is there, catching it, holding it. And Travis is pulled back inside. 

Lawson’s face is the first above him. He pulls Travis to him, holds him tight, even as someone else is warning them back. Looming close, the man in black has a hold of Travis’ elbow and he’s urging both of them away from the window, pulling them towards the door. The building is warped and shaking. Travis’ steps are unsteady, but Lawson is right there with him, and together they stumble forward. 

Travis blinks up at the canvas roof. He can hear the wind catching at the tent flaps, every gust sending it snapping. Over the rise and fall of that roar, he can Mike’s voice, directing how the rest of the tents need to be set up. What direction they need to face, and how deep the stakes need to be to withstand the storms. 

He should be helping. Travis sits up and winces. Lawson’s hands catch his shoulders, steadying him, helping him the rest of way to sitting. 

“Do you need something?” Lawson asks. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Travis looks out the flapping door of their tent. “We should be out there.” 

Lawson makes a very judgmental face. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Travis repeats. Travis has long, dark bruises where the ropes caught him and his skin is crisscrossed with the marks of where he was scratched by the glass, but he is, overall, fine. Even if Lawson still makes anxious faces at him if he drifts out of arm’s reach. “At least can we go sit outside?” 

Lawson considers. “I can help,” he says at last. “You can watch.” And he gives Travis a hand up. 

They settle on camp stools just outside their tent. Lawson hesitates for a moment, a frown of concentration on his face, and then his hands turn, and he begins to spin from the air more of the thick fiber ropes they’ve been using to secure the tents. Travis can feel the light tug on his resources that always happens when Lawson’s building, the pull of energy from him to Law, but it’s not a burden. It feels good to be reminded of the connection. 

The new Builder, Paul, is working nearest to them – making great swaths of canvas shimmer into being. Adrian stands watching him, with his arms folded, both of them engaged in a conversation that Travis can only hear half of. 

“No,” Paul says. Several beats of silence and then, again, with more emphasis, “No.” 

“No, look,” Paul says, pausing to hold the canvas fabric out for Adrian to inspect. “I know what I’m doing, and I’m the one doing the work here.” 

Travis watches him fight off a grin. “Maybe,” Paul allows. And then he takes an affectionate swipe at Adrian. 

Looking past them, the horizon down here is like nothing Travis as ever seen. A great, unbroken stretch of sky, lit up by the pulse of the sun going down. Storms race overhead, instead of below. But the skyline is broken up by the reach of trees, and in the distance, mountains, and all around him, Travis hears not just voices but the whisper of leaves and the rush of wind across his face. Whatever this is, it’s as different from life inside the sterile confines of the Tower as he can imagine. 

Lawson pauses in his work to reach over and nudge his foot against Travis’. And Travis can feel his quiet contentment at having him close. Whatever is before them, they’ll go into it together. 

They’ll build something new. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Metal Halide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7096672) by [Dark_Eyed_Junco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Eyed_Junco/pseuds/Dark_Eyed_Junco)
  * [Everyday Electricity (the Everyday Travesties remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10593840) by [othersideofthis (hikaru)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru/pseuds/othersideofthis)




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